


To Spot a Sapling in the Woods

by intaglionyx



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Bloodplay, Gen, Mild Gore, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intaglionyx/pseuds/intaglionyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jecht sees the worst of it.</p><p>(He doesn't handle it well.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Spot a Sapling in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justira/gifts).



> For the prompt:
> 
> "Auron, Braska, Jecht, in any combination. Romantic, platonic -- anything that showcases the close bond they have. If romantic, I would love first-time scenarios, but an established relationship is fine! However you work them, I'd love to see more about how Jecht takes to Spira and what he thinks of the fayth and summoning =)"
> 
> So, uh...oops! This one got away from me a little. At least it's still very much about "how Jecht takes to Spira" though, right?
> 
> (The answer is "badly.")

It’s fucking humid here, humid and hot and stinking with spilled guts and blood. They only arrived in time to crush the fiends and save a handful of people who had locked themselves in their squalid little huts while the rest of their neighbors died. Not that Jecht would call them cowards; he cleaved open a beast that had only been held off from mauling a door to shreds by a kid who had been stabbing at it over and over with a bread knife. Jecht had had to take the serrated blade in one fist and yank it out of the girl’s hand before she finally stopped. He’d left her there, screaming at what he could only assume were his mom’s or pop’s remains. He couldn’t tell. He hadn’t known what to do.

Hours go by before they manage to collect all the bodies at the water’s edge. Jecht finally stands back and lets himself look at what he’s seeing. He ends up hunched over in front of the pile. The townsfolk are standing far away enough that they probably think he’s praying. He finishes emptying his stomach. Auron looks at him like he’s really stepped in it, and tracked the dung all throughout whichever sacred temple they went through last. Jecht wants to punch him in the face, but instead he falls in line next to him. He looks at Braska, really focuses on him, like this is a game, he’s the ball, and he’s all that matters. There’s an ugly kind of truth to it, he thinks as the other man moves to stand facing all those bodies stacked like a trash heap. Braska is the ball, and Jecht and Auron need to get him across this shithole of a world to the goal, or this kind of shit will just keep happening. 

Braska looks calm — serene, even. It scares the shit out of him. Looking at Auron is almost worse: he looks resigned, like this is just more of the usual for him. Jecht’s starting to realize that it probably is. 

The summoner starts to move. His robes are heavy and bloodstained, and Braska dances slowly in place. It doesn’t take long before the pyreflies start to float like sparks from a bonfire, or, well, a pyre. Auron is practically humming that fucking hymn in his ear. Jecht would hit him, or say something, but the pyreflies are thick around and above them now, rising to gleam like stars against the darkening sky before fading away, and Jecht’s tongue feels dry in his mouth. 

This is solemn, and sorrowful, and everything that Jecht hates. He wants to scream. 

When the bodies are gone, there’s a moment where all three of them are still as statues, and then they’re all moving at once, walking at a brisk pace toward the ruins of the village gate where the people are waiting. Jecht wants to hit the fucking road, now, but he and Auron stand to the side while Braska dispenses advice, sounding exhausted but satisfied, like after a game or a nice, long fuck. The townspeople are practically climbing all over each other to shovel praise on them, shit about saving their lives, heroes, saviors. It’s the kind of shit Jecht would have eaten right up only a couple of days ago, but now it just makes him want to bolt. One of them shoves a potion in his hands with a whispered “Thank you.” He empties the thing over his still-bloody hand and shoves the bottle in his bag.

As their feet finally hit the road, he looks back and tries to find the kid from before, the one who mangled his hand in the first place. He can’t catch her in the crowd, though.


End file.
